I can’t sleep
Again.
How original…an artist with insomnia…or so I presume
Sleep by closing eyes
Let your
mind drift
but
the noises shoot your swollen lids open and we’re back to
SQUARE ONE.
At least I get a mediocre poem out of it.
Continued counting of sheep but their wool turns to cotton
And
The bahs turn to words spoken three days ago in a coffee shop at 8:27 pm with a friend you hadn’t seen in three weeks
And you
Wonder, why you can’t be there now instead of…Oh
It’s 3:20 a.m.
When did that happen?
Plans of early morning torture are there and you know
If you don’t rest now you’ll be tired all day
VICIOUS CYCLE-
-sleepwhen you don’t want to be tired forever
God, I wish MY THOUGHTS WOULD SHUT UP
that’s probably why I enjoy the silence
When you don’t let it get a word in during the day, it always wants out at night
I wonder if I’m nocturnal? Science point to otherwise, but I beg to differ.
Xoxo turns to ** over my eyes because I guess what they say is true….
I can sleep when I’m dead.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 11:31 AM UTC
Take a picture! It’ll last longer.
No really, come on! Cause while your friends are invested in a feeling of joy masking unrecognizable shallowness
Your focus was on the focus of your shattered iphone 6
But, it’s fine, because if you don’t take a picture it didn’t happen.
Last week, you were right over there,
Passed out on the couch,
And everybody knows it happened.
Because a picture is worth a thousand words
A thousand words you did not speak
A thousand words,
But not one of them sounded like, “No”
A thousand words you’re praying you can white out with a thousand more. So, you’re back at that disgusting house smiling at people who won’t bother to ask your name.
But that’s fine,
Because at least they think you can have a “good time”
Take some candids! No really,
But make sure you know,
Because you would never want them to see that the twinkle in your eye was from the glint off of tears that appeared when the camera was turned.
But as long as you got a good shot.
Too bad that sometimes
The shot of a camera stings worse than that of a gun.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 11:30 AM UTC
I know how it feels
How it feels when there’s a gremlin gnawing on your side
It sits behind your eyes,
And pushes out tears
It comes from nowhere, and anytime
From the middle of a lecture
To being held in the arms of the one you love
And it’ll push you apart.
And away
Its little claws grasping at invisible threads connected to your mind
While logic cowers in the corner
And you're left alone
There you’ll turn to the one holding you
moments ago
And they’ve turned too
turned away
So you lay in defeat,
letting the gremlin crawl back into your ear
latching back on
this consistency is the only thing coming up clear
draining you more day by day
but you let it
because
control seems better then the inevitability of the water that surrounds you when you take a dip in the deep end
-but othertimes-
when you're feeling braver,
finished submitting to the shallow end
you'll try and settle it down,
or at least help it sleep
meditation
medication
breathing
tea,
but
these start to ring up useless
hope becomes your ploy
so maybe one day
those bite marks in your side will heal
This gremlin is not biased.
it does not care about race,
or status,
or gender
it has no consistency
it may plague you for weeks on end,
no relief
or room to breathe,
and disappear without a trace for a couple weeks more,
but it always knows the way back
it knows you
This gremlin is inconsiderate.
It does not care of your disposition
towards life
or academics
or your career
It does not care of who you are
and at times it will try to define you
use you against yourself
but just as a tree may lose its leaves,
and blooming flowers
you define yourself from your roots
so sleep tight,
and settle in,
because
although your fight is far from won,
you've always got one thing to hold on to,
to cling to
and coddle in the dark
when the gremlin is quiet and still
dance in the solitude
and laugh
because you are you
and beautiful
down
to
each
and
every
root
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 8:16 PM UTC
Dead,
the day before yesterday.
Grieved by it, personally,
Reputation: few or no friends
Suggested art - lost its erratic stars
A dreamer! Dwelling in ideal realms
-the brain-
Madness
Melancholy
Indistinct curses with eyes upturned, already ******
Happiness wit hglances introverted, shrouded in gloom,
arms wildly beating spirits - sought to forget
close by,
those glimpses
open to the doom of death
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 9:09 PM UTC
Anxiety is a cold, lilac purple.
It sounds like a care siren going off on a brisk September morning
It tastes like orange peels from yesterday's lunch
It smells like burning rubber
Anxiety feels like motion sickness from being trapped under impeding waves, with you hands tied to a post
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 9:00 PM UTC
Infatuation is transparent red.
It sounds like the quickened pace of a fox in the forest
It tastes like metallic blood pumping in the back of your throat
It smells like three week old lilacs
Infatuation feels like burrs stuck in the sleeves of your tattered wool sweater.
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 8:58 PM UTC
zooming, zipping, speeding by
the air rushing by me as the spokes spin freely, gravity pulling me down
I outstretch my arms, and the wind lifts me high above the restraints of this world until the hill ends
and I clasp back onto those worn handles once more
bracing for the cracks in the walkway
'always be back when the street lights come on'
little creatures, sitting peacefully under an evergreen, only a little way into the old woman's lawn
a teal bike thrown quietly to the side
and crouch and creep slowly into the late afternoon
sheltered by luscious green ceilings above me, and the slight purr of a fur ball in front.
'always be back when the street lights come on'
the sun is setting quickly
but the bats always come out around now
an abandoned school with overgrown grass serves a grand hotel for my nocturnal friends
here they come
a large rain cloud of echo chirps and the flitter of paper thin wings catching air
'always be back when the street lights come on'
the bridge
water rushing quickly by,
it must have somewhere to be
the glowing moon settling above
content
prancing thoughts of dancing on those ripples and tickling the streaming moonbeams cross
and a little heartbeat quivers
trembles
shakes
"always be home when the street lights come on"
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 8:35 PM UTC
All my wishes, they manifest too soon.
Here we go again, the same dance; slow.
It left me there, under the bright blue moon.
Your promises fly by as loons,
signaling me in my cue to go
All my wishes, they manifest too soon.
The world's music of the night held me to swoon,
so, I missed the bus to your show
It left me there, under the bright blue moon.
I hope, I cry out to the beauty of that blue moon
for a chance, maybe these versus may flow
all my wishes, they manifest too soon.
the strings I play hum a broken tune,
but the breeze is forgiving, bringing me those tears in the sky that glow
It left me there, under the bright blue moon
Now, I share a meal with the sister of noon
sitting lonesome and caress the grass below
All my wishes, they manifest too soon.
It left me there under the bright blue moon.
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 8:15 PM UTC
I haven’t been this happy in quite some time.
I still feel tinges of pain
But they never last long.
They no longer feel the same.
They’re distant you see,
far from the depths of my heart
For the holes that echoed cavernous, fill with webs, holding together what once fell apart.
And I smile.
Because I’m happy
Not obligated
or covering up something more raw and real
but genuinely happy
that’s part of his appeal
These webs catch feelings,
ones of warmth
a calming peace
Those little arachnid legs
will wrap carefully these from greatest to the least
and store them away
deep in the depths of my heart
to call upon those memories
when I feel I'm to fall apart
Hopefully the light lasts
even in my darkest of days
and the butterflies he's hatched
scare the moths aways
away
they'll fly leaving the fields bright and clear,
and comforting darkness
sent off to disappear
But yet, we all know
that moths attract to light in dark
but maybe I'll learn to love them,
as the Entomologist holds my heart.
Dec 19, 2017
Dec 19, 2017 at 9:48 PM UTC
yes, she was beautiful
but sometimes
the most beautiful flowers,
aren’t given the cleanest water.
Dec 17, 2017
Dec 17, 2017 at 9:48 PM UTC